


brOTP

by Reyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Bromance, Brotp, Epic Bromance, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Slice of Life, bro triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyn/pseuds/Reyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd love some platonic, brotp fic for Scott and Stiles. Preferably set post S2, and having them deal with some of their issues, and bonding (or re-bonding, I guess?)"</p><p>Stiles is jealous of Isaac. Scott is jealous of Derek. Isaac is just jealous. And then there's Derek who, quite frankly, doesn't give a damn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brOTP

**Author's Note:**

> This would be a commissioned fic written for the Sterek Campaign's Teen Wolf Charity Project.
> 
> Congrats [inyron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inyron/pseuds/inyron)!! I hope this contains some semblance of what you were hoping for!!

Scott was staring.

He wasn’t sure _why_ he was staring; couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but there was something different about Stiles. His hair was the same, his moles were the same, his unblemished neck remained just that – unblemished. He still chewed on the cap of his pen as his eyes scanned the notes on the board, he still slouched, he still layered his t-shirt with something that had long sleeves, and he still hid his phone in his lap to fact-check or browse Wikipedia for when the lesson moved too slowly for his brain.

So what was it? New shoes? New underwear?

From his backpack leaning against his leg, Scott’s own phone buzzed with an incoming text. It barely distracted him from his visual quest to figure out what was going on with his best friend, and Scott’s eyes remained glued to the far side of Stiles’ face while he blindly reached down and fished out the device.

**ISAAC LAY-HEY**

‘ _Hey, Derek saw Django last night and said it was really good. I def want to see it now. When you go, can I come with?_ ’

Scott smiled. Isaac’s relationship with Derek was downright adorable when the two of them weren’t busy being all badass.

‘ _ofc :)_ ’

He started typing up a second message, explaining how Stiles would be coming as well, even though he, too, just saw the movie last night…

Scott froze, his head popping up to stare at Stiles in shock. Now that he knew exactly what to look for, he could find it easily. There, in the air, buried beneath the subtle smell of soap, was the taint of Derek.

Brotrayal flooded through Scott, and he scrambled to gather his things as the bell rang, despite Stiles patiently waiting for him as always.

“Dude, you told me you were fine last night!” he accused, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

Stiles frowned, taking a moment to realize what this conversation was about before pulling a face and offering up a shrug. “It _was_ fine. You not answering your phone isn’t anything new anymore, and it wasn’t a life-or-death situation, so…” He shrugged again.

“Yeah, but then you went to see Django anyways. With Derek.”

From the corner of his eye, Scott could see Stiles’ mouth fall open in shock. Almost on cue, they both stopped walking and turned to face one another.

“How did you—?” Stiles scoffed and glanced off to the side. “What does it matter? I’m still going again with you.”

“Yeah, but…” Scott winced, already aware of how bad this would sound. “I thought if you didn’t take me, you would have ended up going with your dad or something.”

Stiles’ head drew back sharply. “Wow, Scott. Tell me what you really think about my social life.”

“Sorry…”

“I know people! I have friends other than just you.”

“Derek?” Scott’s skeptical look would have been more cutting it if wasn’t so tentative.

“Other…” Stiles confidence visibly wavered. “Other werewolves than just you.”

Scott’s look remained in place, and Stiles lips drew in out of frustration.

“What?” he demanded. “You can hang out with other werewolves, but I can’t?”

“I was with Allison last night,” Scott felt the need to point out. “On a date. Only it wasn’t really a date.” His face went a little dopey. “But it was still totally a date.”

“Whoa, stop right there.” Stiles held out a hand for emphasis. “What I did last night wasn’t a fake not-date. There was no…rendezvous-ing of a dating manner going on. And oh my God, why am I even defending myself against this when Derek is involved? Thank you for scarring me, jerk.” His hand shoved further out to push at Scott. “I was talking about you and Isaac.”

Scott frowned. “But I’m not fake-dating Isaac.”

“No, but you’ve been hanging out with him.” Stiles’ face soured as he stared out at the crowd of students over Scott’s shoulder. “A lot.”

“Well, yeah.” Scott shrugged. “We’re friends now. You do know he’s not the enemy anymore, right?”

Stiles’ face darkened further before he abruptly raised his brows and the expression vanished. “And that’s exactly how it is with Derek now.” The warning bell rang and Stiles reached out to pat Scott’s shoulder. “Glad we cleared up this misunderstanding. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Adjusting his backpack, Scott watched Stiles jog away, waving at someone he knew before rounding the corner.

“But you don’t even _like_ Derek,” Scott grumbled to himself, turning to shuffle off to his next class.

\---

Scott crashed into the ground hard enough that the clouds above seemed to spin for a brief moment. They stopped at the harsh whistle sounding from the other end of the field.

“McCall! What the hell was that?! You did not attend summer school and raise your grades just to be thrown around my field like a damn rag doll! Unless you’re a masochist, in which case you need to not tell me because there are things in the world that do not need to be shared.”

Scott’s head rose just in time to see everyone’s helmet turn to look toward the bench, where Stiles was pointedly scooting away from Greenberg.

“Stilinski! Stop dusting my bench with your ass and take the goal. Greenberg, take left midfield. Let’s go!” Coach Finstock’s whistle blew a second time.

A pair of legs and gloved hand blocked Scott’s vision, and he took the offered help to stand.

“You okay?” Isaac asked, his hand lingering in Scott’s space even after he regained his footing.

Scott batted the hand away. “I’m fine,” he dismissed, watching Stiles jump up and down a few times to loosen up before jogging out to take Danny’s place at goal.

He didn’t realize he was trying to head in Stiles’ direction until he felt himself being restrained.

“Centerfield is this way.” Isaac’s lighthearted tone fell flat at Scott’s glare. “You _sure_ you’re okay?”

“I said I was fine,” Scott repeated, allowing himself to be ushered slowly back to his starting position for the next round of scrimmage.

“I don’t need super senses to know that you’re lying.”

Scott could feel his ire draining away at Isaac’s patient look.

“It’s nothing,” he tried to shrug off, glancing again in Stiles’ direction. “It’s…I don’t know. Stiles went with Derek to the movies last night.”

Isaac’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “On a date?”

“No! What? No!” Scott’s expression was pleading as he looked back at Isaac. “He said no when I kind of asked him?”

“Let’s _go_ , McCall! Have we forgotten the importance of hustling in sports? I’m _this_ close to making you all do suicides!” Coach Finstock shouted as Scott finally took the starting position opposite of Jackson. “Seriously. This. Close.” Fingers were squished together for emphasis.

“Get your head in the game, McCall,” Jackson muttered, managing to make it sound like a threat, even without the implied ‘ _or else_.’

\---

They ended up doing suicides. The whole team. For the final hour. Courtesy of Scott.

Every last team member managed to have a go at their co-captain as they hobbled by him on the way to the locker room. Most of the punches and body checks barely fazed him since everyone was too exhausted for it to make much of a difference.  But Stiles, the great friend that he was, had a comment ready for every last person who felt the need to take their passing anger out on Scott.

“Yeah, sure, hit the man acting as my crutch, just go ahead. Be my guest.” Stiles waved his free arm about, forcing Scott to tighten his grip around his friend’s waist so that he wouldn’t fall over. “Wha—you, too, Lannet? He brought cookies to your grandmother last week!”

Scott opened his mouth, ready to tell Stiles that it didn’t really matter since none of it actually hurt, let alone barely jostled him, when Jackson walked by. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, with a dull ache in his shoulder.

“Come on, man!” Stiles yelled. “You guys are practically brothers now!”

Another passing teammate yanked away Stiles’ lacrosse stick, which he had been using as a cane at Scott’s sudden absence.

“Why?” Stiles demanded, his legs crumpling beneath him.

For a long moment, the two of them laid there on the grass, staring up at the evening sky.

“Okay, seriously though,” Stiles began once the last pair of feet passed them by. “What the hell was that today? You were sucking in ways that even had Greenberg embarrassed for you.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Stiles dismissed, raising a hand just to let it flop back to the grass with a thump. “I’ll just file this away as survival training for when my life is in danger and I remember to, I don’t know, actually run, as opposed to just standing there and letting myself be shoved into walls and be intimidated.”

Something about that statement didn’t sit right with Scott, and he brought himself up to his elbows so that he could properly look at Stiles’ prone form. “You’re not being threatened, are you?”

“What?”

“Derek,” Scott clarified. “He’s treating you okay? He’s not threatening you or anything?”

“ _What?_ ”

Scott’s mind was already jumping from scenario to scenario and he plowed on. “He’s not just using you, is he? This isn’t some ploy to get me to join his pack again? You’re not being held hostage or anything?”

“Dude, are you even listening to yourself right now?” Stiles demanded, taking several attempts to turn his head so he could meet Scott’s eye and glare at him properly. “Do I _look_ like I’m being held hostage?”

“He…could have let you go,” Scott supplied pathetically, already sensing he lost this argument.

Stiles let out an explosive sigh. “No. There are no hostage situations going on in this relationship. Not even pretend ones. Because if my dad ever stumbled upon us in such a scenario, he would probably shoot first and then ask questions later.”

“And you’re not da—”

“No! We are _not_ dating!”

Silence reigned for a moment and Scott felt the corner of his lips twitch up. “Cause, you know…if you were gay…” He tilted his head to the side. “That’d be okay. I mean, cause, hey. I’d like you anyway.”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare break out in a song like this is some twisted musical.” Stiles’ hand groped around uselessly. “Because I will beat you with my stick. Where is my stick?”

Rolling onto his side, Scott pushed himself up into a sitting position, watching as Stiles’ arm continued to reach around, trying to blindly find his lacrosse stick. He let out a chuckle. Stiles was a dork. But he was Scott’s dork. And Scott was Stiles’ dork. And that was why they had been best friends for the last eight years; because they appreciated each other through thick and thin. Scott seriously doubted Derek would ever understand Stiles enough to be a good enough replacement for when Scott failed to answer the phone.

Derek wouldn’t get why Stiles complained constantly about DC’s New 52, but still read them religiously, regardless. Derek would be confused as to why Stiles’ dad would confiscate the police scanner he _gave_ Stiles in the first place, angry that Stiles had misused it, as if it weren’t something he expected from his son. Derek would be even more baffled when the sheriff would turn right around and give the thing back less than forty-eight hours later. Derek wouldn’t know the story behind Fist-Bump Buggies, or what to put in the special request box when ordering pizza, or how to cheat so he could beat Stiles at video games. He wouldn’t know to carry around an extra set of highlighters in every color for when Stiles’ started concentrating too hard.

“You’re still giving me a ride home, right?” Scott asked, hating how unsure he sounded.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles groaned out, rocking his body back and forth in what looked like an attempt to roll over. “Now get off your wolfy ass and help me up. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

\---

Stiles was the king of subtlety. Actually, no. No, he wasn’t. But he was pretty good at being subtle in a glaringly obvious way.

For example: the glower he had been aiming at Isaac for the majority of their Spanish period. Obvious to anyone who looked, but subtle because he sat several seats behind Isaac, so the stare was aimed at the back of the head. See how nicely that worked out?

At least, it was working out nicely until Mrs. Garcia dismissed them to practice conversing in pairs and Isaac grabbed his bag and stood, making his way over to Stiles like a man on a mission. Stiles would have run, but his notes were scattered all over the desk, as well as his highlighters. So he did the next best thing, which was pretend he didn’t notice Isaac’s pointed gaze and turned around in his chair to start chatting with his usual partner.

“Hola, Brian! Como  – What the fffu…??” Stiles’ mouth fell open as he watched Brian go flying from his seat, only to be replaced by Isaac, who didn’t look the least bit remorseful over shoving someone out of their chair.

“Dude! What the hell is your problem? Brian, man, are you okay?”

“I hear you’ve been hanging out with Derek.” Isaac leaned forward over the desk, intent on Stiles’ answer.

For a moment, Stiles merely looked back and forth between Brian and Isaac before deeming Brian well enough to ignored and focused his attention on what was to be considered an immediate threat. As the statement sunk in, Stiles drew his head back and scoffed. “That wasn’t in Spanish.”

Isaac cocked his head. “We could always switch to violence. That seems to be a pretty universal language.”

Really, Stiles had no idea what Scott saw in this kid. “No thanks, I’m good with failing Spanish because my partner wants to chat in English. Soooo what? Yes, I’ve been hanging out with Derek.” Stiles’ hands waved up in a whoopty-doo gesture. “What do you care? It’s not like you’re in need of his time now that you and Scott are all…” His face scrunched in disgust. “…buddy-buddy.”

Isaac slowly worked his jaw as Stiles spoke, mulishly looking off to the side in what Stiles saw as a stubborn refusal to explain why his panties were in a twist over this. Scott’s twisted panties, Stiles could understand. Hell, Stiles was secretly relieved over Scott’s reaction to the movie date. The movie not-a-date. The movie bro-time. Isaac, however, had no reason to C his way into this A-B best friend only issue. Unless…

“Wait. Are you…jealous?”

Isaac’s eyes widened comically fast. “No,” he immediately denied, breaking eye contact to stare down at the high heels of the girl sitting diagonally across from them.

Ha, busted. Stiles allowed himself a moment to feel smug about unintentionally one-upping himself in the competition for Scott’s best friend; especially when his actions earlier in the week had been a move of resignation and slight desperation.

He was still a little bummed about the scratch his phone had gotten when he flailed it into a brick wall in his surprise at Derek agreeing to hang out when there wasn’t any evil afoot. It seemed like his phone was always doomed to damage when Derek was involved. Stiles was secretly wondering how long it took before his phone’s insurance policy flagged him under ‘Suspicious as fuck. Stop giving him new phones.’

“What’s there to be jealous of, really?”

Stiles kind of agreed. Because why anyone would be jealous of pleading with their phone company to accept his increasingly ridiculous explanations for why his phone died this time (“I thought I saw a monster lurking between some trees and threw my phone at it as hard as I could in defense,” was clearly a story that needed tweaking).

And then he remembered he had been holding a previous conversation with Isaac.

“I mean, Scott’s not the one who told me. I found out from Derek.” From the way Isaac met Stiles’ eyes, it was obvious he had regained his wolfy confidence. “He feels sorry for you; a poor loser without any other friends. He’s really way out of your league. If I had to guess, I’d say the other night was a pity date.”

“Please. If that’s how he really felt, he would have offered me the bite.” Stiles felt wholly triumphant at the way Isaac’s eyes flashed golden. Nerve struck, score one for Stilinski. “And it wasn’t a date! Why does everyone keep _saying_ that? Jesus!”

Turning around, Stiles picked up his open bag and held it up to his desk, swooping his scattered mess into it, not caring how messed up his notes became as a result. He was finding a new conversation partner because he was done dealing with Isaac. And because he actually wanted a good grade in this class.

\---

“We have a problem.” Despite throwing himself into the chair opposite Scott, Stiles was careful in setting his lunch tray down.

Scott wordlessly offered up his pudding cup, which was quickly snatched away and exchanged for a chocolate chip cookie.

“I don’t like Isaac,” Stiles explained, eyes on his plate as he rearranged the food into the order he planned on eating it. “I could go into detail about how much I don’t like him, but semantics.” He waved a dismissing hand. “Point boils down to my not liking Isaac. But then you _do_ like him. However, you hate Derek. Me? I like him.” Stiles froze mid-shrug and he rethought his words, an exaggerated frown marring his face as his neck stretched out from his shoulder. “Okay, so I tolerate him really well at random intervals. Do you at least see where I’m going with this?”

“I guess.” Scott frowned down at his sandwich. “How are we supposed to fix it, though? Do you want me to try hanging out with Derek more while you hang out with—”

“God, no! That’s a horrible idea! Why would you even—? Give me back my cookie!” The deserts were swapped back. “Besides, Derek might get the wrong idea and think you’re trying to get recruited into his pack or something.”

Scott put his sandwich down. It was time for a serious talk. “Stiles,” he began, gaze darting back and forth to make sure no one was blatantly eavesdropping. “Are you sure there’s nothing… _deeper_ going on between you and Derek? I think we’ve all been through enough together to not be embarrassed about weird habits and stuff if I were to hang out with him.” He wanted to continue, but Stiles was digging through his pockets with purpose, puling out his phone and slamming it down between them.

**REAL ALPHA DEREK HALE**

 ‘ADFKJ;ALDKF J;LAIRHF  
_It wasn’t a date.’_

_‘Agreed. Care to explain why everyone is asking me otherwise?’_

_‘OH MY GOD!!!  
NO. JUST NO._ ’

“Why am I not allowed to have friends?” Stiles’ hands spread wide over the table. “Are you seriously saying that if I were dating Derek, you’d make more of an effort than if I just wanted to be _friends_ with him?”

Scott stopped himself from responding the exact moment it occurred to him that his answer was yes.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed. “That was a really unfair question because I would totally do the same if you were dating Isaac.”

The realization seemed to have blown Stiles’ mind, because he leaned back in his seat, face slack with shock.

Scott didn’t allow the following silence to last very long. The moment felt inappropriate to be eating, but he was starving and his sandwich smelled delicious.

“Okay, sooo…” he dragged his eyes away from his food to look at Stiles. “I’m not about to start dating Isaac, and you say you’re not about to start dating Derek.” Scott fingered his sandwich longingly. “I guess I can start making more of an effort to check my phone?”

Stiles nodded and sat back up in his chair, leaning forward to shove a few tater tots in his mouth. “And I guess I could…” he shrugged thoughtfully, “not give into my impulsive nature to do things last minute and try to prearrange our plans at least a week in advance or something.”

A grin broke out over Scott’s face as he did his best not to laugh at his best friend. He knew Stiles would probably fail a good 70% of the time in suppressing his impulsive urges, but the fact that he said he would try meant a lot to Scott.

“Want to come over after Deaton locks up today and help me clean out some of the animals’ cages?”

Stiles snorted. “No.” He fought back a smile while picking at his small cup of lettuce that was intended to pass as a salad. “Yeah, okay. Seven sound good?”

Scott spotted Isaac near the other end of the cafeteria, sitting with Boyd and unashamedly listening in on their conversation.

“Seven’s perfect, man,” he replied, dragging his eyes back to Stiles.

“Good. Now shut up and eat your food,” Stiles ordered. “I swear I can hear your stomach from all the way over here and it’s creeping me out.”

This time, Scott didn’t bother to hide his laughter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: old-stereo-feels


End file.
